


Echoes

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Older Lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: Doyle gives Bodie an Amazon Echo for his birthday.





	Echoes

“Alexa, turn on Cowley.”

“Oh, my God.” Doyle rolled his eyes. “I knew I’d regret giving you an Echo for your birthday.”

“I learned how to make her turn on the light.” Bodie’s tone was nonchalant, but his eyes gave away his glee.

“Not ‘her’: ‘it’. And you saw fit to name our living room light ‘Cowley’.” Doyle hung his raincoat in the hall cupboard.

Bodie deposited his keys into a bowl by the door before shedding his own coat. “Considering the number of years he barked orders at us…”

“Still seared in your brain, is it?” Doyle walked into their well-lit living room. “Nightcap?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough.” Bodie followed him into the room. “I like retirement; no one telling me what to do when.”

“Delusions, my son.” Doyle poured himself a small measure of whisky, in honour of the past and Cowley’s orders.

“Well.” Bodie wrapped his arms around Doyle, pressing against his back. “I like being retired, anyway.”

“Look at us making old bones, eh?” Doyle felt the tension in the body behind his, and knew he’d been right about the text message Bodie had received at dinner. He drank down the whisky, turned in Bodie’s arms. “Who was it, then?”

Bodie held still for a moment, then sighed. “Anson.”

“I thought he was in remission?”

Heart attack.” Bodie released him and walked to the window. “Betty said it was quick.”

“Christ.” Doyle shook his head. “Time’s changed it, hasn’t it? Back in the day, we would’ve raged against a quick death from a gun.”

Bodie turned his head to look at him. “At least we would’ve had someone to go after.”

“Yeah, with your bad knees and my dodgy ticker.” Doyle walked to Bodie, nudged him aside so he could look out the window as well. Below them, the city glowed in the dark, street lamps softened by the mist. He felt Bodie’s arm on his shoulders and smiled a little. Death was something they’d had to grow used to. Once upon a time, people had looked at them, wondering how they could so easily risk their lives. But it seemed to Doyle it took more courage to grow old. He felt Bodie’s warmth against him and sent a silent thanks out to the aether. “I never thought we’d make to to worry about cancer or coronaries.” Bodie didn’t say anything, but Doyle felt the sudden tension in Bodie’s arm. Long experience held him still, waiting for Bodie to tell him whatever it was in his own time. The walk from the restaurant had been silent as well.

Finally, Bodie spoke in a hushed voice. “There are times I wonder if _this_ isn’t some delusional dream.”

Several quick responses were on the tip of Doyle’s tongue, but he held them all in. He leaned a little into Bodie’s embrace.

“You died that time, when you were shot,” Bodie said flatly. “Permanently.” He took in a breath. “And I killed Mayli Kuolo. All this is just…the reality I preferred.”

For a moment, Doyle could see it; a far more likely scenario than the one they lived. And all this was Bodie’s will—the strongest he knew—overriding a truth he couldn’t bear. They’d never had these years. Reality seemed to shiver around him. London dimmed. “Must be driving Kate Ross round the twist.”

Bodie laughed, and warmth replaced the chill. “Almost worth it, then.”

“Anyway, Cowley would have put you down, like the mad dog you are. So in that case, we’re both dead. If this is all your dying imagination, well, where’s the five star accommodation, eh?”

“Oi, are you complaining about my dream future?”

“Yes! If this is a dream—why’re we old, sunshine? I’d like the stamina of my youth for one thing.”

“Oh, yes?” Bodie leaned in and whispered in his ear: “What would you do with that, then?”

Doyle slanted a smile at Bodie. He turned, rested his hand on the curve of Bodie’s neck. His thumb stroked Bodie’s jugular. “There’s no one to go after. Not a fucking thing we can do.” He saw the memory flare in Bodie’s eyes—the pain and grief that had turned, so unexpectedly, into joy for the two of them. They’d witnessed the useless death of the bomb disposal man, but there had been no one to catch—Ulrika’s group had already been destroyed. No vengeance possible; no way to burn away the adrenaline. They’d tried drink, had nearly had a brawl in the pub, and had ended in each other’s arms and bodies. It had been fierce, uncontrolled, and glorious. He’d felt guilty about it until Bodie had knocked some sense into him. _What better way to honour the sacrifice, Ray? Live._

Was it any different now?

Bodie kissed him, still as hard and passionate, but with the experience of precious, never-to-be-taken-for-granted years. Doyle responded, as he always had, always would, even if all this was but a delusional dream of Bodie’s. Doyle broke the kiss. “Oi, if this is all your disordered imagination after I got shot, then why the hell did you wait until—” Bodie stopped his words with another kiss.

“Come on,” Doyle said, when he could. “Bedroom. We’ll need the comfort.” 

“Now, that’s where a dream might be an advant—” Bodie gasped a little. “Sod,” he said, as Doyle grinned and released him. Bodie pushed Doyle towards the bedroom. “Alexa, turn off Cowley.”

He couldn’t resist: “Alexa, turn on Bodie.”

A flat, female voice responded: “Sorry, I didn’t find Bodie light.”

“No, me either—”

“Keep moving, Doyle.”

“Running all the way, sir.” They walked into the bedroom. “At least you didn’t put Cowley in our bedroom. Thank God, for small favours. Or the wisdom of—”

“Alexa, turn on Murphy.”

The End  
July 2017


End file.
